


Everybody Needs Somebody

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Quinn have their own problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody Needs Somebody

Everybody Needs Somebody

Another housewife touched his ass, caressed it, actually.  Those were his usual clientele, the women in their mid to late forties.  The kids had left for college, the husband worked late; there was nothing to do, no one to make them feel special or needed or appreciated.  That was Sam Evans’s job.  Well, not really.  In reality, his job was to make them forget all those things that they didn’t have, to forget the emptiness of their lives.  He did this by taking off his clothes and gyrating, thrusting his hips as the women pushed dollar bills into the waistband of his too tight red shorts.  To his adoring fans, Sam Evans was twenty two, not seventeen, and his name was White Chocolate.

                His parents had no idea, of course.  They thought he was still delivering pizzas.  To account for the increase in tips, he’d told him that his boss had given him a route in one of the wealthier neighborhoods after Ernesto, the other delivery guy, had been busted for a DUI.  They bought it, hook, line, and sinker, and the family went out to eat at an all you can eat buffet, with Stevie and Stacy stuffing their faces with cheesy bread and ice cream.  Sam had felt odd, just handing their waitress her tip, rather than stuffing it down her pants; it didn’t take long to grow accustomed to the lifestyle.

                At first it had been a hard pill to swallow, becoming a member of the flesh trade.  Sam Evans had gone to church all his life, came from a conservative Tennessee family; stripping was not in the cards.  But his dad’s job in Indiana hadn’t been working out, and when they’d moved back to Lima out of desperation, the oldest Evans boy had seen an ad on a less that upstanding billboard.  A fat man in a dark office had told him to try out, to show him some moves.  Frankie, the man behind that desk, had laughed at Sam’s “moves” but had seen potential in his abs.  The hourly rate wasn’t great, but the more he thrust his hips, the more greasy green singles were stuffed down his pants.

                He didn’t have to strip any further than his little red shorts, so that was nice, but the customers could touch him; this was a full service strip joint, Frankie had told him, not like the classier establishments.  On a given night, Sam could expect to have his ass slapped, his groin stroked, and his chest caressed.  At first, he’d been afraid of embarrassing himself, of getting an erection, but that fear soon proved baseless, about two seconds into his first dance.  There was nothing sexual about the experience, at least not on his end.  Sam wasn’t a touchy, feely kind of guy, but these people didn’t see him as a real person, just an object of their fantasies, and there was nothing arousing about them fondling him.

                He’d thought the gig was up when Finn and Rachel had arrived.  Sam had managed to convince them not to reveal his age to the proprietor, but he’d had to parlay his job security with renewed New Directions membership.  He didn’t want to sound callous or anything about his old group, but with everything else going on in his life, Sam really didn’t give a flying fuck about singing in a show choir, though he’d had to rejoin to keep his _friends_ from selling him out, _for his own good_ , of course.

                They’d promised not to tell anyone, but Sam still felt horrible every time he looked the two in the face.  They meant well, they’d just wanted to get their friend out of a bad situation, but Sam _had_ to have this job.  Necessity didn’t make it easy though; as horrible as being homeless had been, having two of his friends know about his job was humiliating.  He didn’t do it for himself, that was for sure, and he didn’t even do it for his parents – he did it for Stevie and Stacy. 

                “C’mon, White Chocolate,” a thick, middle aged woman purred, winking at him.  “Show me what you got!”

                The shock of feeling her flat palm slap against his ass drug Sam from his reverie, pulled him back to the sweat soaked present.  Forcing a grin at the bottle blonde, he twirled and thrust and spun in front of her, dancing to the eighties music pouring from the sound system.

                Her other hand massaged the front of his shorts.  “Ooooh, you’ve been holding out on momma!  White Chocolate’s been a bad boy!”  She slapped him again, pressing a dollar into the back of his shorts, at the small of his back, while her other hand continued to stroke him, sometimes moving up to finger the line of hair trailing down from his bellybutton; he hated it when they did that.

                Sam flinched when she squeezed; some of the customers got more handsy than others, but he kept dancing.  They couldn’t pull his shorts down, and they couldn’t stick their hands in, nothing more than to slide in a dollar bill, but other than that, he just had to take whatever the customers wanted to give him.  Lots of them, much like this woman, liked to talk.

                “Mhmmm, White Chocolate’s a real man!”  She gave him another squeeze.  The shorts that Frankie had issued him were tight enough to show off the outline of his genitals, and most of the customers noticed.  “Buck for me, baby!”

                Sam was throwing his head from side to side, fisting pumping the air, and shoving his hips at this woman when he saw the flash of gold hair.  His heart sank; Finn and Rachel had broken their promise – they’d told someone.

                Quinn Fabray sat down in one of the booths off to side.  When her eyes found his, she gave him a sad, pleading look.  _Come over here,_ her eyes said.

                Trying to concentrate on his dance, knowing that his tips depended on performance, Sam hurriedly mouthed, _go home,_ and returned his full attention to the customer; he was a professional now, and there could be no distractions.

                For another hour he avoided her; the look on her face proved that she wasn’t leaving.  Sam was determined though, to maintain a little, whatever was possible, of his personal dignity.  He wasn’t stripping, he wasn’t dancing – he was providing for his family.  The nobility of the cause didn’t make it easy to face his friends though, especially _that_ friend.

                At the end of his shift Sam escaped to the dressing room without ever having come into contact with Quinn.  She’d stayed at her table, turning away two other guys who tried to show her a good time, and had waited for him.  She should have known that there was no way he’d come over there.

                The other dancers laughed and joked as they donned their clothes; everyone stank of sweat and god knows what else, but you always showered at home; some of the guys weren’t interested in women, and communal showers just meant you were asking for it.  Sam found the most private corner available, kind of shrouded in shadows, and stripped naked, wiping his body down with a towel before pulling on his boxers, jeans, and shirt.  He had some cheap body spray to try to cover up the scent, and he always drove home with his truck’s windows down.

                Sam didn’t know why it surprised him, he _knew_ this girl, nothing that she did should surprise him.  “I told you to go home,” he said when Quinn appeared at his side as he walked from the dressing room entrance into a back alley.

                “I couldn’t.  Rachel dropped me off here and left.”

                He was always so tired after work, and tonight it was worse; he’d had to divide his attention between the customers and avoiding Quinn.  Leaning against the outer wall of the building, Sam sighed.  “Quinn, what do you want?”

                She looked at the ground, like she was ashamed of seeing his shame.  “To help you.  To be there for you.”

                “Alright, can you change all these ones for some fives?  I think my parents are starting to get suspicious.”

                Quinn’s eyes flashed angrily.  “Is this funny to you?”

                “Hilarious,” Sam spat.  “I walk in there every night, take off my clothes for strangers, and dance as they grab at me.  It’s like the Sam Evans Comedy Hour.”

                Quinn’s face softened, her anger replaced by the ever hated pity.  “You don’t have to do this, Sam,” she said, reaching out to put her hand on his shoulder.  “There are other ways you could help your family.”

                He didn’t know why he was so angry at Quinn, she hadn’t done anything, she said she just wanted to help.  But in that offer, she was, at least on one level, judging him, she was pitying him; Sam hated that.  “I’m going home, Quinn,” he said, pushing away from the wall.  “I’ll give you a ride, but I’m tired and don’t want to talk.”

                Quinn ran ahead of him and put herself in front of the truck door.  “Talk to me, Sam.  Please.”

                What was he supposed to do, cry on her shoulder?  Would everything get better if bared his soul, wept a little?  It wouldn’t; nothing would make things better.  He put his hands on her shoulders and moved the girl from in front of the door.  “I need to go home.  Get in the truck.”

                “Why are you so against me helping you?”

                “I’m not, I appreciate it, I really do.”  That wasn’t a lie.  “But there’s nothing you can do, Quinn, so let’s quit the charade.”  She didn’t move to get into the truck, and he wasn’t going to leave her in the parking lot of a strip club, so Sam actually bodily picked her up and sat her in the passenger seat.

“I still love you,” she said, totally out of the blue, from the spot where he’d put her.

                It didn’t affect Sam.  “You do not,” he answered flatly, not stopping as he turned the key in the ignition.

                There was a silence from Quinn, time taken to consider what to say next.  “She’s happy with Shane; she’s not going to leave him.”

                Sam bit into his lip.  He didn’t love Quinn, not anymore, but she was his friend, for what she’d done for his family last spring, if not for tonight – he didn’t want to yell at her, but it was a struggle.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sighed.

                Quinn looked straight into his eyes.  “I do.  I’ve never seen Mercedes so happy.”

                He rolled his eyes.  “No, you really don’t know what you’re talking about.  I don’t have the time or the money to deal with that right now; I’m glad Cedes is happy, but that’s the end of my involvement.”  Sam put the car in drive and pulled out of the parking lot.

                The ride to her house was silent, and for that, Sam was thankful.  He’d always had problems telling girls “no,” and this girl was a special case.  Finally, they reached her driveway.  Unlocking the doors, Sam said, “I, really, I’m – I’m not glad you saw me like that, back there, but it means a lot, knowing that you wanted to help me.”

                Quinn didn’t look up from her lap, didn’t say anything.

                Sam couldn’t read her, so he just shrugged off her silence; he was too tired to be playing games.  “Alright, well, uh, good night.  I guess I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

                The silence in the air was pregnant with tension, like Quinn was about to say something earth shattering.  Finally she looked up.  “I can give you money.”  It was flat, even, short, and sweet; a statement of fact.

                Sam had been feeling bad for being short with her, back at the bar, but that offer swept all that away.  “Go home, Quinn; don’t make me feel any worse than I already do.”

                She realized how he’d interpreted that.  “No!  Not like that; I can actually offer you a job.”

                He was so, so tired.  His back hurt from being on his feet for so long, he could smell himself, and his skin felt sticky.  Sam just wanted to get back to his family’s rented mobile home, monopolize the hot water for about half an hour, and brace himself to do it all again tomorrow night.  In short, he didn’t want to play whatever game she was offering.  “I make a lot of money in tips; I’m a better dancer than I used to be.”  It wasn’t intended to be funny, but he did grin just a little.

                Quinn didn’t laugh.  “I can give you a hundred and fifty a week.  I’m sure you probably make more, but you won’t have to take your clothes off.”

                “Always a plus,” Sam shrugged.  He did make more than that, but not by much.  “Where are you getting that kind of cash?”

                She didn’t care about him knowing.  “My dad pays my mom child support; she doesn’t need it, what with the alimony he pays her, so she gives it to me.  It’s kind of like hush money; I don’t bother her, and she doesn’t bother me.”

                “And you just want to throw it away?”

                “The job’s pretty important.”

                “And what would that be?”  Sam had no clue what she could possibly need.  A personal assistant maybe?  Lawn care?  When he’d given her his ring, he’d promised to move the heavy stuff around in her house, maybe she needed that now.

                Quinn took a deep breath, chewed on her lip.  Looking over at him, her eyes as pleading as they’d ever been, she said, “I need you to help me raise Beth.”

                For several seconds, there was silence in the cab of the truck.  It took Sam that long to wrap his head around what she was asking.  Finally, it clicked.  “You’ve lost your mind,” he said quietly.  “You’ve got to be ill,” he said in disbelief, “you’re sick, and it’s messing with your head, and –”

                “I’m serious, Sam!”

                “Quinn!  How in the world can you be serious?  You’re seventeen years old!  Beth has a mother!”

                “And it’s me!  She’s mine!”  The tears were streaming down her face, mascara leaving dark trenches on her cheeks.  “I can take care of her like she needs!  I’m her mother!”

                He hated, hated to see girls cry, but what she was talking about was lunacy.  Trying to calm down a little, Sam took several deep breaths and put his hand on her shoulder, like she’d tried to do for him at the bar.  “Quinn, I’m sorry for yelling, but Beth has a mother; they’re not going to take her away from Shelby and give her to you.”  He squeezed a little.  “I’m sorry, I really am.”

                She sniffed for a while.  “Did you know,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks, “that Shelby, a teacher, slept with Puck?”

                Sam couldn’t believe that.  “You’re lying.”

                “He told me!”

                Sam ran his fingers through his hair; his life wasn’t supposed to be like this.  “So what?  You’re going to have Shelby put in jail, probably have Puck sent to some kind of a group home, and then everything’s going to be alright?  That’s not how the world works, Quinn.”

                “Everything _will_ be alright if I get her back,” she insisted, taking his hand from her shoulder, squeezing it.  “She’s my daughter, Sam.  I don’t feel bad for Shelby, she’s sleeping with a kid, for God’s sake!”  Her bottom lip was trembling.  “I just want my baby.  They’ll give her to me if anyone finds out about what Shelby did, they’ll give her to me because I’m her mother.”

                Sam didn’t say anything, just shook his head in disbelief; she was fooling herself.

                “And you’ll help me, you’ll be her dad.  I’ll pay you, like I said, but after you get to know her, you won’t be doing it for the money.”  Quinn kept nodding, trying to reassure both of them.  “Once you get to know her, you’ll love her, just like I do, because she’s perfect.”

                Sam Evans had some huge problems, problems bigger than any teenager in 2011 should have to deal with; hell, no adult should have to deal with his problems – but looking at this girl, at his friend, seeing her like this, Sam Evans was thinking that his problems were kind of small. 

                He reached across the cab of the truck and pulled her into a tight embrace.  “Quinn,” he whispered into her hair, rubbing her back as she sobbed into his shirt, “I’m sure she is perfect, but you’ve got to –”

                “She’s the only thing I’ve done right,” the blonde cried, hugging at him, pulling them closer.

                “That’s not true.  Quinn, you know it’s not true.  When we dating, well, that was the happiest time of my life; you made me happy.”

                “And I screwed it up.  Beth is the only thing that’s lasted.  She’s perfect now, and she’s going to grow up, and be even more perfect; I need her, Sam.  I can get her, but you’ve got to help me.”

                He had no clue what to say; she wasn’t really crazy, but he could tell that her love for this baby had fostered an obsession to grow in her mind, and when she finally did realize that her hopes and dreams wouldn’t be realized, the fall out wasn’t going to be pretty.

                Looking over at her dark house, Sam said, “Is your mom not home?”

                Quinn sniffed into his shoulder.  “She’s in Cancun.”

                _God, I can’t leave her alone like this._ Sam didn’t have any romantic interests in Quinn Fabray; as he’d told her earlier about Mercedes, he didn’t have the time or the money, but this girl was special to him, would probably always be that way – your first love held a certain place in your heart, and always would.

                Sighing, feeling the ache in his bones, Sam turned off the truck.  “Alright, let’s get inside.”

                Quinn pulled away, surprised.  “What do you –”

                He shook his head.  “You don’t need to be alone right now, alright?”

                Her face lit up.  “Does that mean you’ll help me with –”

                “No,” he said curtly.  “It means that I want to make sure that you’re alright; you’re my friend, Quinn, and I care about you.  This Beth thing,” he shook his head.  “You made the right choice when she was born, you gave her to someone who could take care of her.  You should be proud of yourself for that.”

                Quinn just looked down, obviously frustrated that he just didn’t understand.  “You probably need to get back to your family; I’ll be okay.”  It was like she had given up, like Sam Evans had been her one shot to get Beth back, but now that was out the window.

                He got out anyway and walked around the front of the truck to her door.  “C’mon,” Sam said, offering his hand.  “My parents are fine; I’ll text them when we get inside.”

                Quinn recognized the look in his eyes; it was actually similar to one he wore while watching Avatar, like nothing else mattered.  Submitting, she took his hand and they walked inside.

XxXxX

                “Some of my dad’s clothes are still here,” Quinn said once they were in and the front door was locked for the night.  “I’ll get you something so you can take a shower.”

                “Are you implying that I stink, Quinn Fabray?”  He was trying to be a little light, add some levity.  God knows he needed it, and maybe she needed it even more.  Sam was, if not satisfied, at least resigned to his reality; it seemed like Quinn wasn’t.

                She smiled back at him, the first genuine smile of the evening.  “As alluring as I find the sweaty stripper smell . . .”

                “Alright, alright,” he grinned, “I get your point.”

                While he was in her shower, Quinn got the clothes, an old t-shirt and some grey sweatpants, and brought them back to her bed, sitting down to wait for him.  She knew that he thought she was crazy, about this deal over Beth.  She wasn’t; Sam had no clue what it was like to lose a child, but to see it all the time.  She’d been okay in her junior year, might well have been okay for the rest of her life, but then she’d seen Beth, saw her often now – after that there was no going back.

                Sam came out of the steamy room, a pink towel wrapped around his waist.  For a second, Quinn almost blushed, but then she remembered that an hour ago she’d seen him in less, in a pair of tiny shorts as middle aged women grabbed at his crotch; a towel looked positively tame.

                He sat down on the bed next to her, eying the clothes.  “Thanks.”

                Quinn just nodded.  “I put your other things in the laundry; they should be done by tomorrow morning.”

                “You didn’t have to go through the trouble.”

                “I drop them in the washer and press start, Sam,” she grinned.  “There wasn’t much trouble.”

                They both kind of giggled at that. 

                Quinn would have been lying if she’d said that she hadn’t felt a base desire at the bar; he was extremely attractive, there was no denying that, and seeing him here, sitting on her bed in nothing but a towel, that was pleasant too.  But like Sam, she wasn’t looking for a relationship; she had bigger problems on her plate.

                Quinn had actually asked Puck to give her another one, another Beth, a little person – her perfect thing.  Though a part of her still clung to hope, had begged Sam for his help, another part of her realized that Beth would never be hers.  But the void, the void was so, so awful, and it had to be filled.

                She turned around so that he could take off the towel and change into the new clothes.  With her back turned, Quinn asked, “What, what I saw tonight, is that as far as it goes?”

                Sam of course instantly knew what she was talking about.  Pulling the pants up his legs, he said, “Yes, I don’t have a back room to take women to or anything like that.”

                Before the shirt was on, she was behind him, her lips on the back of his neck. 

                “God, Quinn!” Sam exclaimed, jumping forward.  “What the hell?”

                “Shh,” she whispered, her long hair tickling the bare skin of his shoulders.  “You’re tired, just, just let me make you feel good . . .”

                “Quinn!”  He quickly tugged the shirt over his head.  It was kind of funny, in a sick way; he’d grown accustomed to strangers seeing him, touching him, in basically nothing, but now he couldn’t stand for this girl to see him shirtless.

                She dropped the act.  “Just once, that all I want, I’m not asking for anything more from you – just the one time.”

                “I – what are you talking about?”

                “One night.  You’re right, I know you are,” she admitted.  “I won’t get Beth back, not ever.  But Sam I can’t stand it.  It’s like there’s a hole in my heart, and I hurt all the time, it never stops.”  She slumped back against her bed in a sitting position.  “Just the one time, that’s all I’m asking.  You won’t have any responsibility if you don’t want, you won’t have to give me any money.”  She looked him right in the eye.  “We won’t even have to tell anyone that it’s yours if that makes you happy.”

                Sam’s mouth fell open.  “My God . . .” he whispered.

                Quinn started crying again.  “I know, I know; I’m horrible, I’m an awful person, but Sam, you won’t have to have anything more to do with me after it’s done.  Just give me this one thing.”

                At first he was disgusted, horrified that she would lower herself like this; Quinn Fabray, for as long as he’d known her, had been so proud, so strong – what had happened?  Slowly, carefully, he sat down next to her.  “Quinn . . .” he didn’t want to sound judgmental, but, he’d never been confronted with anything like this before.  Sam wrapped his arm around her shoulders.  “If you’re thinking things like this, then you need help, you need to talk to someone,” he said softly.

                She jerked away.  “The only thing I _need_ , is my baby.  I want the one I’ve already fallen in love with, but I know I can’t have her; what’s so wrong with wanting someone to love?”

                “That’s not the way you do it, Quinn.”

                “Oh, who are you, you to talk about doing things the right way?  You’re seventeen and you take off your clothes for money; who are you to judge me for doing things the right way?”

                He knew that she was hurting, so Sam didn’t lash out and defend himself.  “I don’t want you to go through life that way, Quinn.  I really care about you.”  In fact, he loved her; he wasn’t in love with her, but he didn’t want her to hurt, to want, to do without – what better word was there to describe that than love?  “Someday, you’ll fall in love with a guy, and together, you’ll have a wonderful baby; do it that way.”

                “I don’t do well with guys,” she mumbled, her spirits low again, the fire extinguished.  “I screwed over Finn, who knows what the hell happened with Puck, and I cheated on you.  The only thing I’ve ever done right is that baby.”

                He wasn’t a psychologist, he didn’t know what to say. 

                “Just, please Sam, give me this one thing.”

                He chewed on his bottom lip.  “I am going to sleep with you tonight,” Sam said finally.  “But that’s all we’re going to be doing,” he added when her eyes lit up.  “I’m going to hold you, and show you that people care about you, that even though you miss Beth, there are still other people who love you.”  He hushed her when she tried to argue.  “In the morning, we’re going, together, to talk to Miss Pillsbury, and ask her to recommend someone for you talk to.”

                “So you’re giving me nothing then?  Just like everyone else.”

                “No!  I want you to be okay, I want you to be happy, but Quinn, you need to talk to someone about this; it’s not anything to be ashamed of, but you need help.  You wouldn’t be ashamed if you had the flu or a cold.  You just need to get better.  I’ll help you.”

                “Why?”

                “Why?  Because I love you.”

                Her eyes widened.  “What about Mercedes?”

                “Quinn,” he sighed.  “I love you, and I’ll always love you, it doesn’t have anything to do with Mercedes or anyone else.  I want you to be happy, and have everything that you need, and be safe; that’s what love is; it isn’t having sex, or making out in cars, or going on dates.”

                She just looked at him.

                “Neither one of us needs a relationship; we’ve both got really fucked up lives right now – and it’s nothing to be ashamed of, but we need to fix it, both of us.”  He decided something, right then.  “If you come with me to see Miss Pillsbury tomorrow, then I’ll stop working at that bar, I’ll never go back.”

                Quinn’s eyes widened.  “What about your family?”

                “I’ll figure something out, but you were right, I don’t need to be doing it, there are other ways.”

                “I’ll never stop wanting her back,” she warned.

                “You don’t have to, you probably shouldn’t ever stop, but Quinn, you’ve got to learn how to deal with the pain; that’s why I want you to get help.”

                She nodded, partly in defeat, but partly in acceptance.  Pulling back the covers, Quinn said, “You really don’t have to sleep with me; I’ll be okay.”

                Sam shook his head.  “I wasn’t lying, I do love you.”  He pulled the sheets up around them.  “I have no idea what the hell that means, and I don’t need a girlfriend right now, and you don’t need a boyfriend, but I want to make sure you’re alright.  So, is it okay if I stay?”

                Quinn shivered when she felt his arm around her waist.  “It is, but I’m not really sleepy.”  She hadn’t decided if she would actually go and see Pillsbury the next day, but Quinn thought it would make Sam happy, so she figured she might.  Like him, she wasn’t looking for someone, someone who wasn’t a little curly haired toddler, and she didn’t believe that anyone could help her get over the hurt, but Sam wanted her to go, and had promised that he’d take care of his own problems, so she knew she had to try.

                “Well, we don’t have to go to sleep just yet.”  He stretched out a little, rubbing his hand along her arm.  “Help me brainstorm about jobs; I’m unemployed now, you know.”

                Sam always did that, distracted her, make her feel just a little bit better.  “Hmm, well, you’ve been in the service industry I guess, and you have experience gyrating . . . not sure where else those skills would be applicable . . .”

                “Don’t forget bumping and grinding, I got really good at that, and the pelvic thrust, too.”

                “That reminds me, I’ve never slept with a stripper before.”

                “Ex-stripper, thank you very much.”

                That made her laugh a little, but when Quinn turned around and pushed her face into his shirt, she said, “Are we going to get better?  Either of us?”  His family was destitute, and she had a gaping hole in her heart.

                “Not alone.”

                “You’re going to be more help to me than I am to you.”

                “Just having someone helps more than anything.”

                “I need someone,” she said, closing her eyes.

                Sam hugged her close.  “So do I.”

 

 

 


End file.
